As if the threat of separation wasn’t enough, Parti Québécois leader Pauline Marois has given reasonable-minded voters another reason to shun her party at the polls on Sept. 4.
She wants to bar public servants from wearing turbans, kippahs or hijabs, but not — God forbid — the crucifix.
Under the guise of wanting to rid “conspicuous religious signs” from the liquor stores, tax-collection offices and other state institutions of the province, Marois announced her party’s “charter of secularism” Tuesday during a campaign stop in Trois Rivières.
She made an exception for the crucifix, however, which the PQ considers a symbol of Quebec’s Roman Catholic heritage — a cultural symbol, not a religious one. If worn (as a pendant, say, or a brooch), it must be “discreet,” her spokesperson specified. That way, no one will be offended.
What hooey.
The right to religious expression is fundamental, guaranteed by both the Quebec and Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, whether you work for the government or any other employer. If it doesn’t infringe on the rights of others — and how can it? — an item of clothing or jewelry is yours to decide to wear or not.
What’s most offensive is Marois’s plan to deny that right on the one hand (to Sikhs, to Jews, to Muslims), and to uphold it on the other (for Christians).
Why is Marois preaching her two-faced sermon now? Probably because she cynically hopes to pick up some votes on the secular and anti-immigrant right, just as Mario Dumont, leader of the now-defunct Action démocratique du Québec (partly recycled into François Legault’s Coalition Avenir Québec) did successfully in the 2007 election.
The PQ leader also must sense a vein of anti-minority sentiment that’s waiting to be a mined again, five years after the big dig of the Bouchard-Taylor Commission into “reasonable accommodation” of religious and ethnic minorities, which often degenerated into a road show of intolerance by the hoi polloi.
Marois knows something about symbols herself. She announced the “charter” at a sawmill once run by a Catholic religious brotherhood (one point for Christian values) while standing alongside her candidate in the region, Djemila Benhabib, known for her anti-Islamist books (one point for secular Muslims).
Unlike her leader (and the other main parties), Benhabib favours the removal of Quebec’s most indiscreet state symbol of Catholicism, the crucifix that hangs in the National Assembly. She also wants prayers banned from municipal council meetings, a practice still embraced by some jurisdictions like Saguenay, whose mayor, Jean Tremblay, is an outspoken Catholic.
On radio and TV after the PQ policy announcement, Tremblay denounced Benhabib as a foreigner with a “name we can’t even pronounce” who has no place “dictating the rules” of how Quebecers should express their religious faith. Quebecers are “soft” and will “bend” toward her point of view unless a protest is raised, he added.
He had no problem with the PQ “charter” itself, however. Why should he? It’s only half-discriminatory — against the half that isn’t Christian.
For shame.
By reviving the old us vs. them debate (the PQ’s campaign slogan is “À nous de choisir”) Marois has simply reminded voters who don’t support the PQ what they have to fear if she forms the next government. Her minorities policy should also give pause to Quebec nationalists who actually believe in a pluralistic society and who don’t see a bogeyman under every kippah.
If anyone stands to gain by Marois’s revealing of her true colours, it’s Legault. On the same day Marois talked of barring religious symbols, the CAQ leader put forward a more constructive approach and praised immigrants — “Asians,” in particular, along with “the Jewish community” — for trying harder at school and not dropping out nearly as much as old-stock Quebecers.
As condescending as that might sound to some people, it might just be a better way to win votes: by praise, not by prohibition.